The Murder House (35 page)

Merrick followed him unhappily, wondering how Oakley was going to persuade them to do what he wanted without letting slip that the identification of Michael Yorke had come from a gay police officer.

The first thing I did when I got to the station that evening was to go to the newest computer and pull up a mug shot of Billy Yorke. It had been Monkey Face on the train, all right. I wondered why I hadn't considered that possibility before. I recalled stirrings of recognition on the train, but then James had started with his antics and all my attention had focused on him.

So, where did that leave me? Yorke would have known that James had forced me to help him on the Noble case, as he'd been on the train when it had happened. It must have been a comfort to him to know that James had a bent police officer under his thumb.

So Yorke or one of his gang must have guessed that it was me who'd killed James. Or had they – they'd certainly not paid me a visit, as I imagined they would if they'd known I'd dispatched their lawyer. I rubbed my head. Kovac. He was the spanner in the works – he'd confused everything and everyone from the start. He must have come back to the house for some reason, found James dead, and decided he'd better hide the body in case he got the blame. What other explanation was there?

So, did the Yorke gang know about me or not? I wanted to believe that they didn't, basing my hopes on the fact that it had been a month and they hadn't made a move. It would be ironic, I thought, if I ended up bludgeoned to death, too.

Still, I'd used my wits to get me this far and I wasn't about to give up now. A danger more immediate than Yorke was what would happen when Colin was reported missing. Would the pathologist say he'd fallen off the cliff – a tragic accident? Or would he say that the injury to the top of Colin's head wasn't the kind of thing that happened when a person tumbled to his death?

Oakley was in trouble. Neither the three superintendents from Professional Standards nor Taylor would allow him to risk their chances of solving Wright's murder on the say-so of a source he was unwilling to reveal. Merrick was in an agony of indecision. Was solving the case – perhaps both cases – worth losing his privacy over and enduring years of snide comments and humiliation?

‘We can't take risks with this one, Neel,' said Taylor. ‘Barry was a friend, as well as a colleague, and I don't want to jeopardize catching his killer for a hunch passed on by some snout who we can't use in court.'

‘Sir,' began Merrick. ‘I—'

Oakley interrupted quickly. ‘A year ago, I was seconded to the drug squad for a couple of months, if you recall. Some of the officers are still out there, working under deep cover.'

Taylor frowned. ‘Are you saying your source is a copper?'

‘I can't say, sir,' said Oakley, meeting his eyes. ‘It might put someone in danger.'

Taylor sighed, and with relief Merrick saw he had swallowed the bait. ‘All right, I'll arrange search warrants for Michael's and Randal's houses, and we'll nab them tonight.' He glanced at Parker. ‘Right?'

Parker nodded. ‘We were heading in their direction for Wright's killing anyway. This is sooner than we'd like to move, but we'll manage. We can't have it said that we prioritized one case over the other.'

‘Michael or Randal might tell us where Kovac is hiding,' said Merrick hopefully.

Taylor gave a derisive snort as he reached for the phone. ‘Right, lad. And I might dance naked along the harbour with daisies in my hair. We'll have to hit Michael and Randal at the same time. It's ten thirty now. We'll aim for midnight. Any later and their lawyers will be screaming about the inconvenience. You'd better make a note in your records that your witness only gave you this information half an hour ago, Neel.'

‘Not a witness, sir,' said Oakley solidly. ‘An anonymous source.'

All four men looked up as a clerk came in and passed Taylor a piece of paper. The superintendent read it quickly.

‘It's from the Tirana police. Kovac phoned his university earlier today, just to check in. He told his secretary that he's been camping with his family since he returned from the UK, and she told him he was wanted by the police. I expect that's the last we'll ever hear of him.'

An hour and a half wasn't long to assemble the team and appraise them of what was happening. Taylor wanted a uniformed presence as well as CID, so applied to Inspector Blake for help. Unfortunately it was Saturday, the busiest night of the week, so only Blake himself, Paul Franklin and Helen Anderson could be spared.

Taylor was going to lead the raid on Michael's house, while Oakley was in charge of the one on Randal's home. Both men would be arrested, after which their houses would be handed over to SOCO. Oakley glanced at the officers who'd be with him – Davis, Evans, Merrick, and the three uniforms. Two Armed Response Teams were standing by, too, just in case either situation turned ugly.

They left the station quietly, travelling in unmarked cars to the quiet suburban area where the henchman lived. Leaving Evans, Merrick and Blake to watch the back and sides of the house, Oakley, Davis, Franklin and Anderson went to the front door. Lights were blazing from a downstairs room, and the muted rumble of a television could be heard. Randal himself answered the door, wearing jogging pants, a dirty T-shirt and no shoes.

‘Sod off!' he said, when he recognized the callers.

When Oakley informed him that he was being arrested on suspicion of the murders of James Paxton and Barry Wright, the henchman's jaw dropped in horror.

‘You mean the copper? But I never had nothin' to do with him.'

‘We'll discuss it at the station,' said Oakley, noting he didn't deny Paxton's killing. ‘Put some shoes on.'

‘I wanna change,' said Randal, pathetically defiant. ‘I ain't going nowhere dressed like this. I got me image to think about.'

Oakley nodded and watched while Randal donned one of his mafia-style suits and a shiny tie. A pair of dark glasses followed, then he reached for the briefcase at the bottom of the stairs.

‘We'll just check that,' said Davis, taking it from him and rifling through its contents. She frowned as she pulled something out. It was a police statement form. Randal sagged.

‘Shit!' he muttered.

Wordlessly, Davis handed it to Oakley. It was a signed statement by Yorke, admitting to the Westbury Burglaries, and it had been witnessed by Oakley. Yorke's signature was in a different pen from the one used to write the rest of the statement, and someone had added small but distinct marks under four letters. It was an old trick, one Oakley hadn't seen used for years. The letters were S, T, U, and D, and they meant one thing: Statement Taken Under Duress. In other words, the prisoner had been forced to say something he hadn't wanted to, or that wasn't true.

‘What were you going to do with this?' Oakley asked. ‘Was Paxton hoping to slip it in the court file so he could claim our case was based on misconduct? Is that why you killed him? Because he couldn't do it in time for Yorke's remand?'

Randal was sullen. ‘I never killed no one,' he said again. ‘He was dead when we got there.'

‘So who did kill him then?' pressed Oakley.

Randal glowered. ‘I dunno, but I wouldn't mind getting me hands on the bastard. He made a right bollocks of our plans.'

Oakley watched Davis continue to hunt through the briefcase. ‘You're going down for a double murder,' he said. ‘And one of those murders was of a policeman. You might want to consider playing this one straight if you want to see your grandkids. Think about it.'

‘I never killed James,' Randal insisted. ‘I was supposed to meet him at that house so he could tell me what was goin' on, but when I got there he was already topped. All I did was wrap him up – wearing gloves, so you can't pin it on me. I was gonna come back later and get rid of him, but I talked to Michael and he said to leave the body alone.'

‘You took his wallet and phone,' surmised Davis, while Oakley shook his head in disbelief at Randal's confused tirade of denial and confession. ‘That's why it took us so long to identify him.'

‘Michael said I should've left everything as it was, but as I'd already been through James' pockets, he said I should chuck what I'd took.'

‘And did you?' asked Oakley. ‘The phone was used as recently as this morning.'

‘Fuckin' kids,' muttered Randal venomously. ‘A gang of 'em was watchin' when I lobbed the stuff in the river. They never got his wallet but I had a feeling one of them phones never went in the water. It went in the mud. The little bastards must've climbed down and got it.'

‘
One
of the phones?' asked Oakley. ‘He had two?'

‘Of course – one personal, one for work,' said Randal. ‘Like me. It don't do to mix 'em up.'

‘I'm sure it doesn't,' muttered Oakley.

‘Shane King!' exclaimed Franklin suddenly. ‘The boy who drowned at the beginning of August. Helen and I dealt with it. Remember, Hel?'

Anderson's face was pale in the bright lights of Randal's house, but she nodded. ‘No wonder they were reluctant to tell us what they'd been doing there.'

Oakley agreed. If he'd been a child,
he
wouldn't have been keen to tell the police that he'd seen a violent thug like Randal dumping phones in the river either.

Randal's face was ugly with anger. ‘You can't pin the kid's death on me. It wasn't my fault the little bastard went after the stuff. Blame his friends. They must've let him drown while they made off with the phones. All I did was lob the stuff and get out of there.'

‘I imagine Shane's brother Wayne has been using it,' said Oakley. ‘A stolen phone would be useful to a fifteen-year-old fence.'

‘Little bastards!' snarled Randal again. ‘None of 'em are any good.'

Oakley gestured to the false statement. ‘Where did that come from?'

‘James,' replied Randal sullenly. ‘He was gonna use it to get Billy out. I don't know how.'

‘You probably should've got rid of it after you found him dead,' remarked Oakley wryly.

‘Michael told me to, but I thought we might still be able to use it.' Randal looked at it rather wistfully. ‘It's clever, and we'd never get another – I didn't want to waste it.'

‘I'm sure the real killer wrote that anonymous note,' said Oakley to Davis in a low voice, while she continued to root through the briefcase and Randal watched her with resentful eyes. Anderson was near enough to hear, but everyone else was concentrating on securing the scene. ‘
He
killed Paxton, and he's trying to get Randal and Michael sent down for it.'

‘Yeah, if you believe this piece of dirt,' said Davis contemptuously. ‘He wouldn't know the truth if it bit him.'

‘But I
do
believe him,' said Oakley. ‘Paxton planned to get Yorke released by putting that false statement in the court files to discredit our case. I don't know
how
Paxton was going to have it placed in the files, but it means Randal had every reason to want him alive because Paxton was obviously masterminding this scheme. However, when Randal found him dead, he panicked – before the cooler Michael told him to leave everything alone. Michael thought they were in the clear because Randal had worn gloves, but they were thin latex and tore on the sticky tape, leaving behind a couple of partials.'

‘It's possible, I suppose,' conceded Davis. ‘But it's easier to believe there was a falling out, and Randal and Michael bumped Paxton off.'

‘Paxton was Yorke's best hope for freedom
and
he was an old family friend. Moreover, both Paxton and Wright were bludgeoned, which suggests a single killer. Why would Randal and Michael kill Wright?'

‘Because Wright was in the process of planting evidence to see them convicted for Paxton?' suggested Davis. ‘The betting slip that he'd pick-pocketed from Randal in the public toilets the previous night.'

‘Then why did Randal leave the slip behind? It wasn't hidden; it was lying in the open. Randal may not be a rocket scientist but he's not stupid. He would have picked it up after braining Wright.'

Davis waved a dismissive hand and turned to address Randal. ‘What did you wrap Paxton in?'

‘Some plastic and tape I found in the rubbish bin outside,' replied Randal, almost gabbling in his eagerness to extricate himself. ‘I would have used bin liners, but there weren't none. Then Michael said I was a bloody fool to have touched anything. I told him I was wearin' gloves, and he said I should just get out of there.'

‘Where are these gloves?' asked Oakley. ‘We'll need them for forensics.'

‘Yes!' exclaimed Randal. ‘Forensics will prove I never done nothing. I've seen it on
CSI
. I'll give you the suit I wore, an' all. It's the blue one, upstairs.'

Oakley nodded to Anderson, telling her to fetch it. She did as she was directed, and he saw her hat was pulled down so low that he could barely see her eyes. He didn't blame her for not wanting Randal to see her face. The man was known to be vindictive. Of course, if there was any justice in the world, Randal wouldn't be intimidating anyone for a very long time to come.

‘What about Kovac?' asked Davis. ‘Was he there, too?'

‘I don't know Kovac,' replied Randal. ‘I seen his picture on the telly but I never met him.'

Randal was packed into a police car and SOCO arrived. Radios crackled, police lights flashed, and Oakley received the news that all had gone well at Michael's house, too. Predictably, Michael had demanded a lawyer and was refusing to say anything at all. Oakley phoned Taylor.

‘What do you think, sir?' he asked. Now it was over, he found himself strangely dissatisfied with the result.

He heard a gusty sigh. ‘We'll let them cool their heels for a few hours and start interviewing tomorrow morning. You get yourself home now and be back at eight a.m. sharp.'